


don't care what they say

by saekhwa



Series: When I Think of Home [4]
Category: Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Black Character(s), Established Relationship, Interracial Relationship, M/M, POV Character of Color, Post-Movie(s), Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 06:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9589091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/saekhwa
Summary: Rick's stubborn ass didn't want to admit he was sick.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So what do you do when you're deathly ill for two weeks and feel like you're gonna die? Pretend fictional characters are in the same boat 'cause why the hell not.

Floyd felt it — that deep-down guttural groan of frustration, and he slammed the pillow against his ear. It didn't stop shit. The deep sort of woofing wheeze continued ruining what had been shaping up to be a good dream of him cashing in on a fat check for an easy hit. They'd _all_ been easy, but this one had been especially easy _and_ enjoyable. 

But if that damn dog didn't shut the hell up…

He threw the pillow, tossing it up against the headboard, and glared at the window. Now that he was more awake, he realized two things. One, Omar's dog only barked if the kids were messing with it and none of the kids on the block should be awake right now. Two, Omar lived three houses down, which was too far for that sound to be right behind Floyd. 

Shit. 

Rick. 

Floyd flipped over, knocking his hand against Rick's back. He immediately froze, but Rick didn't jerk up, hardly even moved, except for the cough that shook his body, the sound of it buried somewhere in the mattress and maybe Rick's arm. It sounded bad. 

"Yo," Floyd whispered, and propped himself up on an elbow. He waited three seconds and then closed his hand around Rick's shoulder. Rick didn't move, so Floyd followed up with a louder, "Yo. Rick." He squeezed Rick's shoulder.

Rick lifted his head, turning about halfway before he seemed to give up and fall back to the pillow. "What?" 

He struggled to untangle himself from the blankets, but Floyd pushed him back down, even more certain this wasn't a nightmare as he shifted closer. 

"What's wrong?" Rick asked. 

It was too dark for him to get the full effect of Floyd's _are you fucking serious_ face. So Floyd opted for a simple and pointed, "You."

Rick shifted, probably trying to deny it, confirmed seconds later when he said, "'M fine." He got his hand free and covered the one Floyd had around his shoulder. It felt clammy and hot, and Floyd shook his head, trying to peel back some of the layers, so he could feel Rick's head. "Go back to sleep," Rick said, hunching under the blankets again. "Just got some—" He couldn't even finish that lie, caught in another round of coughing that sounded a hell of a lot worse now that he wasn't trying to cover it up. "Dust. Or somethin."

"Dust my ass, "Floyd muttered, and tried to find Rick's neck or face, but Rick had burrowed so deep again, all Floyd got was the tuft of his hair. "You're probably choking on a spider."

Rick snorted, so maybe he wasn't as far gone as Floyd had thought, but he murmured something, probably some weak ass attempt at a comeback that he couldn't finish 'cause he started coughing again and then dropped off. Floyd didn't move 'til he heard Rick start to snore. He huffed a soft laugh, shaking his head as he wrapped an arm around Rick's waist, sweeping back the damp strands of Rick's hair, so he could feel Rick's forehead. Just as Floyd had suspected, it was hot to the touch. While he listened to Rick snore, wheeze, and cough, he thought up a game plan for the morning. 

~*~

The fact that Rick wasn't the first one out of bed proved he was sick. He barely even moved when Floyd got out of bed and checked his temperature. Rick shivered but still felt kind of feverish. How he got sick, Floyd couldn't even begin to imagine. Maybe playing with the kids around the block. Maybe something Zoe brought from school. Floyd hoped like hell she wasn't sick or about to get sick. 

With a shake of his head, he focused his attention on getting the key in the lock without setting down any of the bags. He got the door opened, kicked it shut behind him, and turned the corner to see Rick on the couch, bleary-eyed, looking scruffy with his hair sticking up like some kind of electrocuted cartoon character. 

"Where's Zoe?" Rick asked, standing. 

Floyd tried to wave him back down. "Sent her back to her mom's before you could get her sick."

Rick frowned and had the audacity to say, "I'm not sick," as he took four of the bags from Floyd. "What the hell's all this?"

"Nah, man," Floyd said, shaking his head. "Don't even try that lie." He took the bags back and nudged Rick toward the couch. Not that Rick budged, because he was still stubborn as hell. "And stay your ass here."

"I'm not sick," Rick insisted and then promptly started coughing, hunching over from the force of it. Didn't stop him from shuffling his sick ass after Floyd into the kitchen. He leaned in the entranceway, arms crossed over his chest as he watched Floyd pull out two gallon jugs of orange juice. "I just need some—"

"Rest. Medicine." Floyd poured a big ol' glass of OJ. "Some vitamin C and some goddamn sense," he finished, and held the glass out for Rick, who glared but took it. 

He chugged it, even though he should've taken it slow, but at least he didn't choke. Then he stared at Floyd and shook the glass to showcase its demise. Floyd poured him up another glass and handed him the Sudafed. Then ignored his ass so he could put away the rest of the groceries—a hell of a lot of soup options from the deli they liked down the street, a hell of a lot of fruit and just as many vegetables, more orange juice and some ginger ale. 

"You didn't have to send Zoe away," Rick said behind him. 

Floyd nodded. It wasn't in agreement, just an acknowledgement that Rick had spoken as he pulled out the eggs and some butter. "She's got that big test she's been stressin about." He went back to the fridge and pulled out the cheese. 

"And the sleepover with her friends," Rick added. 

Floyd glanced up with a grin, eyebrow raised. 

Rick looked away and shrugged. "She tells me stuff, too. Sometimes."

Floyd nodded, watching Rick and his ever-present guilt continue to play all over his face. Time with Zoe was always gonna be precious, but she was a big girl. She'd understood. She didn't think Floyd loved her any less 'cause he'd had to send her back to her mom. "Now you." He watched Rick try and mask his cough in the crook of his arm and waited it out. "Are you going to take your ass back to bed or am I going to have to carry you?"

Rick stared Floyd head on, but seeing as how there had been missions where Floyd had literally carried Rick's ass, he didn't have a leg to stand on. Probably why Rick broke eye contact first and set his glass in the sink, rinsing it out. Floyd caught his elbows before he could wash it. 

"Yo, man, just chill, okay?" 

He pivoted Rick around, so he could press the back of his hand to Rick's sweaty forehead. Didn't feel as feverish as he had this morning. 

"I took some aspirin," Rick said, shutting his eyes and leaning into the press of Floyd's hand, loosely wrapping his arms around Floyd's waist. 

Floyd could rag on him, but after thinking about it a moment, he just said, "Come on. Let's get you back to bed."

When Rick shook his head, Floyd felt his expression go flat, but Rick held on more tightly. "I don't wanna be laid up all day."

Floyd thought about it for a solid second and then suggested, "Couch?"

Rick opened his eyes — still looked glassy — and conceded to the compromise with a nod. They didn't move for a moment, Floyd holding Rick steady when another cough shuddered through him. Floyd hoped like hell he didn't get sick from this. Or that Rick's stubbornness didn't land his ass with pneumonia. 

They should be going to the doctor, but Floyd didn't blame Rick for trying to tough this out. Wait and see had been their approach for a lot of years, and even though they were free, there was a lot they couldn't trust. Just each other. Just Zoe. Maybe Harley on one of her good days. Chato, too, if he ever came back but the safest option for him was to lay as low and deep for as long as possible. There were _still_ mad scientists out there trying to tap into his powers.

For now, Floyd focused on Rick. Step one, getting Rick to the couch. Rick didn't resist 'til they got there, but Floyd pushed him down and just grabbed his legs to stretch them out on the couch. He got a pillow under Rick's head and a blanket over him. Rick freed his arms, face pinched in a glare. 

He clearly wanted to get up and move. Floyd could see it in the way Rick kept tracking him, gaze always finding Floyd as he moved from the kitchen to the living room, even when Rick looked like he was half asleep. 

Floyd checked his temperature when he coaxed Rick up to eat some eggs and toast. He didn't feel as feverish, but he looked it, eyes glassy, hand a little unsteady as he broke the yolk on the eggs, shoveling it onto the toast and stuffing it into his mouth. 

"Thanks," Rick murmured when he'd finished eating. 

Floyd ran his fingers through Rick's hair, nodding, and then went back to clean up in the kitchen. Rick sat up when Floyd came back into the living room but laid back down, resting his head on Floyd's lap when Floyd sat. 

"What d'you wanna watch?" Floyd asked, turning on the TV. 

"Somethin' easy," Rick murmured, his hand going tight around Floyd's thigh for a second as he fought off a cough. 

Floyd rubbed his back 'til it eased up. "Somethin' easy" ended up being a _Lethal Weapon_ marathon, Rick struggling against sleep for a good half hour. Eventually, he relaxed and gave in, but Floyd didn't give him much choice either, keeping the blanket tucked around Rick's shoulders and his hand steady on Rick's back whenever Rick started coughing.


End file.
